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be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any
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Copyright E. L. James 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may
be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the
prior written permission of the publisher.
E L James is a former TV executive, wife and mother of two based in West London.
Since early childhood she dreamed of writing stories that readers would fall in
love with but put those dreams on hold to focus on her family and career. She f
inally plucked up the courage to put pen to paper with her first novel Fifity Sh
ades of Grey. She is also the author of Fifty Shades Freed.
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Books by E L James Fifty Shades of Grey Fifty Shades Darker Fifty Shades Freed

Copyright E. L. James 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may
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Copyright E. L. James 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may
be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the
prior written permission of the publisher. First published by The Writers Coffee
Shop Publishing House, Australia, 2011 This edition published by Arrow Books, 2
012 2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1 Copyright Fifty Shades Ltd, 2011 E L James has asserted
her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as
the author of this work. This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters a
re the product of the authors imagination and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author published an earlier serial
ised version of this story online with different characters as Master of the Uni
verse under the pseudonym Snowqueens Icedragon. This book is sold subject to the
condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hire
d out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form o
f binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a simila
r condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
. First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Arrow Books Random House, 20 Vauxh
all Bridge Road, London SW1V 2SA www.randomhouse.co.uk Addresses for companies w
ithin The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offi
ces.htm The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009 A CIP catalogue record fo
r this book is available from the British Library ISBN 9780099579922 Book design
by Claudia Martinez Cover design based on design by Jennifer McGuire Cover imag
e E. Spek/Dreamstime.com The Random House Group Limited supports The Forest Stew
ardship Council (FSC), the leading international forest certification organisatio
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PR OL O G U E
Hes come back. Mommys asleep or shes sick again. I hide and curl up small under the
table in the kitchen. Through my ngers I can see Mommy. She is asleep on the cou
ch. Her hand is on the sticky green rug, and hes wearing his big boots with the s
hiny buckle and standing over Mommy shouting. He hits Mommy with a belt. Get up!
Get up! You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one f
ucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You ar
e one fucked-up bitch. Mommy makes a sobbing noise. Stop. Please stop. Mommy doe
snt scream. Mommy curls up small. I have my ngers in my ears, and I close my eyes.
The sound stops. He turns and I can see his boots as he stomps into the kitchen
. He still has the belt. He is trying to nd me. He stoops down and grins. He smel
ls nasty. Of cigarettes and drink. There you are, you little shit.
A chilling wail wakes him. Christ! Hes drenched in sweat and his heart is poundin
g. What the fuck? He sits bolt upright in bed and puts his head in hands. Fuck.
Theyre back. The noise was me. He takes a deep steadying breath, trying to rid hi
s mind and nostrils of the smell of cheap bourbon and stale Camel cigarettes.
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Ch apter One
I
have survived Day Three Post- Christian, and my rst day at work. It has been a we
lcome distraction. The time has own by in a haze of new faces, work to do, and Mr
. Jack Hyde. Mr. Jack Hyde . . . he smiles down at me, his blue eyes twinkling,
as he leans against my desk. Excellent work, Ana. I think were going to make a gre
at team. Somehow, I manage to curl my lips upward in a semblance of a smile. Ill be
off, if thats okay with you, I murmur. Of course, its ve thirty. Ill see you tomorrow
. Good night, Jack. Good night, Ana. Collecting my bag, I shrug on my jacket and head
for the door. Out in the early evening air of Seattle, I take a deep breath. It
doesnt begin to ll the void in my chest, a void thats been present since Saturday
morning, a painful hollow reminder of my loss. I walk toward the bus stop with m
y head down, staring at my feet and contemplating being without my beloved Wanda
, my old Beetle . . . or the Audi. I shut the door on that thought immediately.
No. Dont think about him. Of course, I can afford a cara nice, new car. I suspect
he has been overgenerous in his payment, and the thought leaves a bitter taste i
n my mouth, but I dismiss it and try to keep my mind as numb and as blank as pos
sible. I cant think about him. I dont want to start crying againnot out on the stre
et. The apartment is empty. I miss Kate, and I imagine her lying on a beach in B
arbados sipping a cool cocktail. I turn on the at-

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prior written permission of the publisher. 6 E L James
screen television so theres noise to ll the vacuum and provide some semblance of c
ompany, but I dont listen or watch. I sit and stare blankly at the brick wall. I
am numb. I feel nothing but the pain. How long must I endure this? The door buzz
er startles me from my anguish, and my heart skips a beat. Who could that be? I
press the intercom. Delivery for Ms. Steele. A bored, disembodied voice answers, a
nd disappointment crashes through me. I listlessly make my way downstairs and nd
a young man noisily chewing gum, holding a large cardboard box, and leaning agai
nst the front door. I sign for the package and take it upstairs. The box is huge
and surprisingly light. Inside are two dozen long-stemmed, white roses and a ca
rd.
Congratulations on your rst day at work. I hope it went well. And thank you for t
he glider. That was very thoughtful. It has pride of place on my desk. Christian
I stare at the typed card, the hollow in my chest expanding. No doubt, his assis
tant sent this. Christian probably had very little to do with it. Its too painful
to think about. I examine the roses they are beautiful, and I cant bring myself t
o throw them in the trash. Dutifully, I make my way into the kitchen to hunt dow
n a vase.
A N D SO A PAT T ER N
develops: wake, work, cry, sleep. Well, try to sleep. I cant even escape him in m
y dreams. Gray burning eyes, his lost look, his hair burnished and bright all ha
unt me. And the music . . . so much musicI cannot bear to hear any music. I am ca
reful to avoid it at all costs. Even the jingles in commercials make me shudder.
I have spoken to no one, not even my mother or Ray. I dont have the capacity for
idle talk now. No, I want none of it. I have become my own island state. A rava
ged, war-torn land where nothing grows and the horizons are bleak. Yes, thats me.
I can interact
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prior written permission of the publisher. FIFT Y SH A DES dA R K ER 7
impersonally at work, but thats it. If I talk to Mom, I know I will break even fu
rtherand I have nothing left to break.
I A M F I N DI NG I T dif cult to eat. By lunchtime on Wednesday, I manage a cup o
f yogurt, and its the rst thing Ive eaten since Friday. I am surviving on a newfoun
d tolerance for lattes and Diet Coke. Its the caffeine that keeps me going, but i
ts making me anxious. Jack has started to hover over me, irritating me, asking me
personal questions. What does he want? Im polite, but I need to keep him at arms
length. I sit and begin trawling through a pile of correspondence addressed to h
im, and Im pleased with the distraction of menial work. My e-mail pings, and I qu
ickly check to see who its from. Holy shit. An e-mail from Christian. Oh no, not
here . . . not at work.
From: Christian Grey Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:05 To: Anastasia Ste
ele Dear Anastasia Forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that its going well. Di
d you get my owers? I note that tomorrow is the gallery opening for your friends s
how, and Im sure youve not had time to purchase a car, and its a long drive. I woul
d be more than happy to take youshould you wish. Let me know.
Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

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prior written permission of the publisher. 8 E L James
Tears swim in my eyes. I hastily leave my desk and bolt to the restroom to escap
e into one of the stalls. Joss show. Id forgotten all about it, and I promised him
Id go. Shit, Christian is right; how am I going to get there? I clutch my forehea
d. Why hasnt Jos phoned? Come to think of itwhy hasnt anyone phoned? Ive been so abse
ntminded I havent noticed that my cell phone has been silent. Shit! I am such an
idiot! I still have it set to forward calls to the BlackBerry. Holy hell. Christ
ians been getting my callsunless hes just thrown the BlackBerry away. How did he ge
t my e-mail address? He knows my shoe size; an e-mail address is hardly going to
present him with many problems. Can I see him again? Could I bear it? Do I want
to see him? I close my eyes and tilt my head back as grief and longing lance th
rough me. Of course I do. Perhapsperhaps I can tell him Ive changed my mind . . .
No, no, no. I cannot be with someone who takes pleasure in in icting pain on me, s
omeone who cant love me. Torturous memories ash through my mindthe gliding, holding
hands, kissing, the bathtub, his gentleness, his humor, and his dark, brooding,
sexy stare. I miss him. Its been ve days, ve days of agony that has felt like an e
ternity. I cry myself to sleep at night, wishing I hadnt walked out, wishing that
he could be different, wishing that we were together. How long will this hideou
s overwhelming feeling last? I am in purgatory. I wrap my arms around my body, h
ugging myself tightly, holding myself together. I miss him. I really miss him .
. . I love him. Simple. Anastasia Steele, you are at work! I must be strong, but
I want to go to Joss show, and deep down, the masochist in me wants to see Christ
ian. Taking a deep breath, I head back to my desk.
From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Tomorrow
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means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the
prior written permission of the publisher. FIFT Y SH A DES dA R K ER 9
Date: June 8 2011 14:25 To: Christian Grey Hi Christian Thank you for the
they are lovely. Yes, I would appreciate a lift. Thank you.

owers;

Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

Checking my phone, I nd that it is still set to forward calls to the BlackBerry.

Jack is in a meeting, so I quickly call Jos. Hi, Jos. Its Ana. Hello, stranger. His to
e is so warm and welcoming its almost enough to push me over the edge again. I cant
talk long. What time should I be there tomorrow for your show? Youre still coming?
He sounds excited. Yes, of course. I smile my rst genuine smile in ve days as I pict
ure his broad grin. Seven thirty. See you then. Good-bye, Jos. Bye, Ana.
From: Christian Grey Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:27 To: Anastasia Ste
ele Dear Anastasia

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What time shall I pick you up?
Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:32 To: Christian G
rey Joss show starts at 7:30. What time would you suggest? Anastasia Steele Assist
ant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:34 To: Anastasia Ste
ele Dear Anastasia Portland is some distance away. I shall pick you up at 5:45.
I look forward to seeing you.
Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:38 To: Christian G
rey
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prior written permission of the publisher. FIFT Y SH A DES dA R K ER 11
See you then. Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
Oh my. Im going to see Christian, and for the rst time in ve days, my spirits lift
a fraction and I allow myself to wonder how hes been. Has he missed me? Probably
not like Ive missed him. Has he found a new submissive? The thought is so painful
that I dismiss it immediately. I look at the pile of correspondence I need to s
ort for Jack and tackle it as I try to push Christian out of my mind once more.
That night in bed, I toss and turn, trying to sleep and its the rst time in a whil
e I havent cried myself to sleep. In my minds eye, I visualize Christians face the
last time I saw him as when I left. His tortured expression haunts me. I remembe
r he didnt want me to go, which was odd. Why would I stay when things had reached
such an impasse? We were each skirting around our own issuesmy fear of punishmen
t, his fear of . . . what? Love? Turning on my side, I hug my pillow, lled with a
n overwhelming sadness. He thinks he doesnt deserve to be loved. Why does he feel
that way? Does it have to do with his upbringing? His birth mom, the crack whor
e? My thoughts plague me into the early hours until eventually I fall into a tful
, exhausted sleep. drags and Jack is unusually attentive. I suspect its due to Ka
tes plum dress and the black high-heeled boots Ive stolen from her closet, but I d
ont dwell on the thought. I resolve to go clothes shopping with my rst paycheck. T
he dress is looser on me than it was, but I pretend not to notice. Finally its ve
thirty, and I collect my jacket and purse, trying to quell my nerves. Im going to
see him!
T HE DAY DR AGS A N D

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Do you have a date tonight? Jack asks as he strolls past my desk on his way out. Ye
s. No. Not really. He raises an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. Boyfriend? I u
sh. No, a friend. An ex-boyfriend. Maybe tomorrow youd like to come for a drink afte
r work. Youve had a stellar rst week, Ana. We should celebrate. He smiles and an un
known, unsettling emotion its across his face, making me uneasy. Putting his hand
s in his pockets, he saunters through the double doors. I frown at his retreatin
g back. Drinks with the boss, is that a good idea? I shake my head. I have an ev
ening of Christian Grey to get through rst. How am I going to do this? I hurry in
to the restroom to make last-minute adjustments. In the large mirror on the wall
, I take a long, hard look at my face. Im my usual pale self, dark circles around
my too-large eyes. I look gaunt, haunted. I wish I knew how to use makeup. I ap
ply some mascara and eyeliner and pinch my cheeks, hoping for some color. Tidyin
g my hair so that it hangs artfully down my back, I take a deep breath. This wil
l have to do. Nervously I walk through the foyer with a smile and a wave to Clai
re at Reception. I think she and I could become friends. Jack is talking to Eliz
abeth as I head for the doors. Smiling broadly, he hurries over to open them for
me. After you, Ana, he murmurs. Thank you. I smile, embarrassed. Outside on the cur
b, Taylor is waiting. He opens the rear door of the car. I glance hesitantly at
Jack, who has followed me out. Hes looking toward the Audi SUV in dismay. I turn
and climb into the back, and there he sitsChristian Greywearing his gray suit, no
tie, white shirt open at the collar. His gray eyes are glowing. My mouth dries.
He looks glorious except hes scowling at me. Why?
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When did you last eat? he snaps as Taylor closes the door behind me. Crap. Hello, C
hristian. Yes, its nice to see you, too. I dont want your smart mouth now. Answer me
. His eyes blaze. Holy shit. Um . . . I had a yogurt at lunchtime. Ohand a banana. Wh
en did you last have a real meal? he asks acidly. Taylor slips into the drivers se
at, starts the car, and pulls out into the traf c. I glance up and Jack is waving
at me, though how he can see me through the dark glass, I dont know. I wave back.
Whos that? Christian snaps. My boss. I peek up at the beautiful man beside me, and h
is mouth is pressed into a hard line. Well? Your last meal? Christian, that really
is none of your concern, I murmur, feeling extraordinarily brave. Whatever you do
concerns me. Tell me. No, it doesnt. I groan in frustration, rolling my eyes heave
nward, and Christian narrows his eyes. And for the rst time in a long time, I wan
t to laugh. I try hard to sti e the giggle that threatens to bubble up. Christians
face softens as I struggle to keep a straight face, and a trace of a smile kisse
s his lovely sculptured lips. Well? he asks, his voice softer. Pasta alla vongole,
last Friday, I whisper. He closes his eyes as fury, and possibly regret, sweeps a
cross his face. I see, he says, his voice expressionless. You look like youve lost a
t least ve pounds, possibly more since then. Please eat, Anastasia, he scolds. I s
tare down at the knotted ngers in my lap. Why does he always make me feel like an
errant child? He shifts and turns toward me. How are you? he asks, his voice stil
l soft.

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Well, Im shit, really . . . I swallow. If I told you I was ne, Id be lying. He inhale
s sharply. Me, too, he murmurs and reaches over and clasps my hand. I miss you, he a
dds. Oh no. Skin against skin. Christian, I Ana, please. We need to talk. Im going to
cry. No. Christian, I . . . please . . . Ive cried so much, I whisper, trying to ke
ep my emotions in check Oh, baby, no. He tugs my hand, and before I know it Im on h
is lap. He has his arms around me, and his nose is in my hair. Ive missed you so m
uch, Anastasia, he breathes. I want to struggle out of his hold, to maintain some
distance, but his arms are wrapped around me. Hes pressing me to his chest. I me
lt. Oh, this is where I want to be. I rest my head against him, and he kisses my
hair repeatedly. This is home. He smells of linen, fabric softener, body wash,
and my favorite smellChristian. For a moment, I allow myself the illusion that al
l will be well, and it soothes my ravaged soul. A few minutes later Taylor pulls
to a stop at the curb, even though were still in the city. ComeChristian shifts me
off his lapwere here. What? Helipadon the top of this building. Christian glances towa
d the building by way of explanation. Of course. Charlie Tango. Taylor opens the
door and I slide out. He gives me a warm, avuncular smile that makes me feel sa
fe. I smile back. I should give you back your handkerchief. Keep it, Miss Steele, w
ith my best wishes. I blush as Christian comes around the car and takes my hand.
He looks quizzically at Taylor, who stares impassively back at him, revealing no
thing. Nine? Christian says to him.
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Yes, sir. Christian nods as he turns and leads me through the double doors into th
e grandiose foyer. I revel in the feel of his hand and his long, skilled ngers cu
rled around mine. The familiar pull is thereIm drawn, Icarus to his sun. Ive been b
urned already, and yet here I am again. Reaching the elevators, he presses the ca
ll button. I peek up at him, and hes wearing his enigmatic half smile. As the door
s open, he releases my hand and ushers me in. The doors close and I risk a secon
d peek. He glances down at me, and its there in the air between us, that electric
ity. Its palpable. I can almost taste it, pulsing between us, drawing us together
. Oh my, I gasp as I bask brie y in the intensity of this visceral, primal attractio
n. I feel it, too, he says, his eyes clouded and intense. Desire pools dark and de
adly in my groin. He clasps my hand and grazes my knuckles with his thumb, and a
ll my muscles clench tightly, deliciously, deep inside me. How can he still do t
his to me? Please dont bite your lip, Anastasia, he whispers. I gaze up at him, rel
easing my lip. I want him. Here, now, in the elevator. How could I not? You know
what it does to me, he murmurs. Oh, I still affect him. My inner goddess stirs fr
om her ve- day sulk. Abruptly the doors open, breaking the spell, and were on the
roof. Its windy, and despite my black jacket, Im cold. Christian puts his arm arou
nd me, pulling me into his side, and we hurry across to where Charlie Tango stan
ds in the center of the helipad, with its rotor blades slowly spinning. A tall,
blond, square-jawed man in a dark suit leaps out and, ducking low, runs toward u
s. Shaking hands with Christian, he shouts above the noise of the rotors. Ready t
o go, sir. Shes all yours!

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All checks done? Yes, sir. Youll collect her around eight thirty? Yes, sir. Taylor
for you out front. Thank you, Mr. Grey. Safe ight to Portland. Maam. He salutes me.
Without releasing me, Christian nods, ducks down, and leads me to the helicopter
door. Once inside he buckles me rmly into my harness, cinching the straps tight.
He gives me a knowing look and his secret smile. This should keep you in your pl
ace, he murmurs. I must say I like this harness on you. Dont touch anything. I ush a
deep crimson, and he runs his index nger down my cheek before handing me the head
phones. Id like to touch you, too, but you wont let me. I scowl. Besides, hes pulle
d the straps so tight I can barely move. He sits in his seat and buckles himself
in, then starts running through all his pre ight checks. Hes just so competent. Its
very alluring. He puts on his headphones and ips a switch and the rotors speed u
p, deafening me. Turning, he gazes at me. Ready, baby? His voice echoes through th
e headphones. Yes. He grins his boyish grin. WowIve not seen it for so long. Sea-Tac
tower, this is Charlie Tango GolfGolf Echo Hotel, cleared for takeoff to Portland
via PDX. Please con rm, over. The disembodied voice of the air traf c controller ans
wers, issuing instructions. Roger, tower, Charlie Tango set, over and out. Christi
an ips two switches, grasps the stick, and the helicopter rises slowly and smooth
ly into the evening sky. Seattle and my stomach drop away from us, and theres so
much to see. Weve chased the dawn, Anastasia, now the dusk, his voice
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comes through on the headphones. I turn and gape at him in surprise. What does t
his mean? How is it that he can say the most romantic things? He smiles, and I c
ant help my shy smile. As well as the evening sun, theres more to see this time, he
says. The last time we ew to Seattle it was dark, but this evening the view is sp
ectacular, literally out of this world. Were up among the tallest buildings, goin
g higher and higher. Escalas over there. He points toward the building. Boeing there
, and you can just see the Space Needle. I crane my head. Ive never been. Ill take you
e can eat there. Christian, we broke up. I know. I can still take you there and feed
you. He glares at me. I shake my head and decide not to antagonize him. Its very b
eautiful up here, thank you. Impressive, isnt it? Impressive that you can do this. Fla
tery from you, Miss Steele? But Im a man of many talents. Im fully aware of that, Mr
. Grey. He turns and smirks at me, and for the rst time in ve days, I relax a littl
e. Perhaps this wont be so bad. Hows the new job? Good, thank you. Interesting. Whats
ur boss like? Oh, hes okay. How can I tell Christian that Jack makes me uncomfortabl
e? Christian glances at me. Whats wrong? he asks. Aside from the obvious, nothing. The
obvious? Oh, Christian, you really are very obtuse sometimes. Obtuse? Me? Im not sur
e I appreciate your tone, Miss Steele.

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Well, dont, then. His lips twitch into a smile. I have missed your smart mouth, Anas
tasia. I gasp and I want to shout, Ive missed youall of younot just your mouth! But
I keep quiet and gaze out the glass shbowl that is Charlie Tangos windshield as we
continue south. The dusk is to our right, the sun low on the horizonlarge, blazi
ng ery orangeand I am Icarus again, ying far too close.
T HE DUSK FOL L OW S US from Seattle, and the sky is awash with opal, pinks, and
aquamarines woven seamlessly together as only Mother Nature knows how. Its a cle
ar, crisp evening, and the lights of Portland twinkle and wink, welcoming us as
Christian sets the helicopter down on the helipad. We are on top of the strange
brown brick building in Portland we left less than three weeks ago. Its been hard
ly any time at all. Yet I feel like Ive known Christian for a lifetime. He powers
down Charlie Tango, ipping various switches so the rotors stop, and eventually a
ll I hear is my own breathing through the headphones. Hmm. Brie y it reminds me of
the Thomas Tallis experience. I blanch. I dont want to go there right now. Chris
tian unbuckles his harness and leans across to undo mine. Good trip, Miss Steele?
he asks, his voice mild, his eyes glowing. Yes, thank you, Mr. Grey, I reply polit
ely. Well, lets go see the boys photos. He holds his hand out to me and taking it, I
climb out of Charlie Tango. A gray-haired man with a beard walks over to meet u
s, grinning broadly, and I recognize him as the old-timer from the last time we
were here. Joe. Christian smiles and releases my hand to shake Joes warmly. Keep her
safe for Stephan. Hell be along around eight or nine.
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Will do, Mr. Grey. Maam, he says, nodding at me. Your cars waiting downstairs, sir. O
h, and the elevators out of order; youll need to use the stairs. Thank you, Joe. Chri
stian takes my hand, and we head to the emergency stairs. Good thing for you this
is only three oors, in those heels, he mutters in disapproval. No kidding. Dont you
like the boots? I like them very much, Anastasia. His gaze darkens and I think he
might say something else, but he stops. Come. Well take it slow. I dont want you fa
lling and breaking your neck.
W E SI T I N SI L E NCE
as our driver takes us to the gallery. My anxiety has returned full force, and I
realize that our time in Charlie Tango has been the eye of the storm. Christian
is quiet and brooding . . . apprehensive even; our lighter mood from earlier ha
s dissipated. Theres so much I want to say, but this journey is too short. Christ
ian stares pensively out the window. Jos is just a friend, I murmur. Christian turn
s and gazes at me, his eyes dark and guarded, giving nothing away. His mouthoh, h
is mouth is distracting, and unbidden. I remember it on meeverywhere. My skin hea
ts. He shifts in his seat and frowns. Those beautiful eyes look too large in your
face, Anastasia. Please tell me youll eat. Yes, Christian, Ill eat, I answer automat
ically, a platitude. I mean it. Do you, now? I cannot keep the disdain out of my voi
ce. Honestly, the audacity of this manthis man who has put me through hell over t
he last few days. No, thats wrong. Ive put myself through hell. No. Its him. I shak
e my head, confused. I dont want to ght with you, Anastasia. I want you back, and I
want you healthy, he says. But nothings changed. Youre still fty shades.

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prior written permission of the publisher. 20 E L James
Lets talk on the way back. Were here. The car pulls up in front of the gallery, and
Christian climbs out, leaving me speechless. He opens the car door for me, and I
clamber out. Why do you do that? My voice is louder than I expected. Do what? Chris
tian is taken aback. Say something like that and then just stop. Anastasia, were her
e. Where you want to be. Lets do this and then talk. I dont particularly want a sc
ene in the street. I glance around. Hes right. Its too public. I press my lips toge
ther as he glares down at me. Okay, I mutter sulkily. Clasping my hand, he takes m
e into the building. We are in a converted warehousebrick walls, dark wood oors, w
hite ceilings, and white pipe work. Its airy and modern, and there are several pe
ople wandering across the gallery oor, sipping wine and admiring Joss work. For a m
oment, my troubles melt away as I grasp that Jos has realized his dream. Way to g
o, Jos! Good evening and welcome to Jos Rodriguezs show. A young woman dressed in bla
ck with very short brown hair, bright red lipstick, and large hooped earrings gr
eets us. She glances brie y at me, then much longer than is strictly necessary at
Christian, then turns back to me, blinking as she blushes. My brow creases. Hes m
ineor was. I try hard not to scowl at her. As her eyes regain their focus, she bl
inks again. Oh, its you, Ana. Well want your take on all this, too. Grinning, she ha
nds me a brochure and directs me to a table laden with drinks and snacks. You kno
w her? Christian frowns. I shake my head, equally puzzled. He shrugs, distracted.
What would you like to drink? Ill have a glass of white wine, thank you. His brow fu
rrows, but he holds his tongue and heads for the open bar.
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Ana! Jos comes barreling through a throng of people. Holy cow! Hes wearing a suit. H
e looks good and hes beaming at me. He enfolds me in his arms, hugging me hard. A
nd its all I can do not to burst into tears. My friend, hes my only friend while K
ate is away. Tears pool in my eyes. Ana, Im so glad you made it, he whispers in my
ear. Abruptly he holds me at arms length, examining me. What? Hey are you okay? You
look, well, odd. Dios mo, have you lost weight? I blink back my tears not him too. Jo
s, Im ne. Im just so happy for you. Congratulations on the show. My voice wavers as I
see the concern etched on his oh-so-familiar face, but I have to hold myself to
gether. How did you get here? he asks. Christian brought me, I say, suddenly apprehe
nsive. Oh. Joss face falls and he releases me. Where is he? His expression darkens. Ov
r there, fetching drinks. I nod in Christians direction and notice that hes exchang
ing pleasantries with someone waiting in line. Christian glances up and our eyes
lock. And in that brief moment, Im paralyzed, staring at the impossibly handsome
man who gazes at me with some unfathomable emotion. His gaze hot, burning into
me, and were lost for a moment staring at each other. Holy cow . . . This beautif
ul man wants me back, and deep down inside me sweet joy slowly unfurls like a mo
rning glory in the early dawn. Ana! Jos distracts me, and Im dragged back to the her
e and now. I am so glad you camelisten, I should warn you Suddenly, Miss Very Short
Hair and Red Lipstick cuts him off. Jos, the journalist from the Portland Printz i
s here to see you. Come on. She gives me a polite smile. How cool is this? The fam
e. He grins, and I cant help but grin backhes so happy. Catch you later, Ana. He kisse
s my

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means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the
prior written permission of the publisher. 22 E L James
cheek, and I watch him stroll over to a young woman standing by a tall, lanky ph
otographer. Joss photographs are everywhere, and in some cases, blown up onto huge
canvases. There are both monochromes and colors. Theres an ethereal beauty to ma
ny of the landscapes. In one taken near the lake at Vancouver, its early evening
and pink clouds are re ected in the stillness of the water. Brie y, Im transported by
the tranquility and the peace. Its stunning. Christian joins me, and hands me my
glass of white wine. Does it come up to scratch? My voice sounds more normal. He
looks quizzically at me. The wine. No. Rarely does at these kinds of events. The bo
ys quite talented, isnt he? Christian is admiring the lake photo. Why else do you th
ink I asked him to take your portrait? The pride is obvious in my voice. His eyes
glide impassively from the photograph to me. Christian Grey? The photographer fro
m the Portland Printz approaches Christian. Can I have a picture, sir? Sure. Christi
an hides his scowl. I step back, but he grabs my hand and pulls me to his side.
The photographer looks at both of us and cant hide his surprise. Mr. Grey, thank y
ou. He snaps a couple of photos. Miss . . . ? he asks. Ana Steele, I reply. Thank you,
Miss Steele. He scurries off. I looked for pictures of you with dates on the Inte
rnet. There arent any. Thats why Kate thought you were gay. Christians mouth twitche
s into a smile. That explains your inappropriate question. No, I dont do dates, An
astasiaonly with you. But you know that. His voice is quiet with sincerity. So you
never took yourI glance around nervously to check no one can overhear ussubs out? Some
times. Not on dates. Shopping, you know. He shrugs, his eyes not leaving mine.
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Oh, so just in the playroomhis Red Room of Pain and his apartment. I dont know wha
t to feel about that. Just you, Anastasia, he whispers. I blush and stare down at
my ngers. In his own way, he does care about me. Your friend here seems more of a
landscape man, not portraits. Lets look around. I take his outstretched hand. We w
ander past a few more prints, and I notice a couple nodding at me, smiling broad
ly as if they know me. It must be because Im with Christian, but one young man is
blatantly staring. Odd. We turn the corner, and I see why Ive been getting stran
ge looks. Hanging on the far wall are seven huge portraitsof me. I stare blankly
at them, stupe ed, the blood draining from my face. Me: pouting, laughing, scowlin
g, serious, amused. All in super close up, all in black and white. Holy shit! I
remember Jos messing with the camera on a couple of occasions when he was visitin
g and when Id been out with him as driver and photographers assistant. He took sna
pshots, or so I thought. Not these invasive candid shots. Christian is staring,
trans xed, at each of the pictures in turn. Seems Im not the only one, he mutters cry
ptically, his mouth settling into a hard line. I think hes angry. Excuse me, he say
s, pinning me with his bright gaze for a moment. He heads to the reception desk.
Whats his problem now? I watch mesmerized as he talks animatedly with Miss Very
Short Hair and Red Lipstick. He shes out his wallet and produces his credit card.
Shit. He must have bought one of them. Hey. Youre the muse. These photographs are
terri c. A young man with a shock of bright blond hair startles me. I feel a hand
at my elbow and Christian is back. Youre a lucky guy. Blond Shock says to Christian
, who gives him a cold stare. That I am, he mutters darkly, as he pulls me over to
one side.

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prior written permission of the publisher. 24 E L James
Did you just buy one of these? One of these? he snorts, not taking his eyes off them
. You bought more than one? He rolls his eyes. I bought them all, Anastasia. I dont
want some stranger ogling you in the privacy of their home. My rst inclination is
to laugh. Youd rather it was you? I scoff. He glares down at me, caught off guard b
y my audacity, I think, but hes trying to hide his amusement. Frankly, yes. Pervert,
I mouth at him and bite my lower lip to prevent my smile. His mouth drops open,
and now his amusement is obvious. He strokes his chin thoughtfully. Cant argue wit
h that assessment, Anastasia. He shakes his head, and his eyes soften with humor.
Id discuss it further with you, but Ive signed an NDA. He sighs, gazing at me, and
his eyes darken. What Id like to do to your smart mouth, he murmurs. I gasp, knowin
g full well what he means. Youre very rude. I try to sound shocked and succeed. Has
he no boundaries? He smirks, amused then frowns. You look very relaxed in these
photographs, Anastasia. I dont see you like that very often. What? Whoa! Change of
subjecttalk about non sequitur from playful to serious. I ush and glance down at m
y ngers. He tilts my head back, and I inhale sharply at the contact with his ngers
. I want you that relaxed with me, he whispers. All trace of humor has gone. Deep
inside me that joy stirs again. But how can this be? We have issues. You have to
stop intimidating me if you want that, I snap. You have to learn to communicate an
d tell me how you feel, he snaps back, eyes blazing.
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prior written permission of the publisher. FIFT Y SH A DES dA R K ER 25

I take a deep breath. Christian, you wanted me as a submissive. Thats where the pr
oblem lies. Its in the de nition of a submissive you e-mailed it to me once. I pause,
trying to recall the wording. I think the synonyms were, and I quote, compliant,
pliant, amenable, passive, tractable, resigned, patient, docile, tame, subdued. I
wasnt supposed to look at you. Not talk to you unless you gave me permission to
do so. What do you expect? I hiss at him. His frown deepens as I continue. Its very
confusing being with you. You dont want me to defy you, but then you like my smar
t mouth. You want obedience, except when you dont, so you can punish me. I just do
nt know which way is up when Im with you. He narrows his eyes. Good point well made,
as usual, Miss Steele. His voice is frigid. Come, lets go eat. Weve only been here fo
r half an hour. Youve seen the photos; youve spoken to the boy. His name is Jos. You
ken to Josthe man who, the last time I met him, was trying to push his tongue into
your reluctant mouth while you were drunk and sick, he snarls. Hes never hit me, I
spit at him. Christian scowls, fury emanating from every pore. Thats a low blow, A
nastasia, he whispers menacingly. I pale, and Christian runs his hands through hi
s hair, bristling with barely contained anger. I glare back at him. Im taking you
for something to eat. Youre fading away in front of me. Find the boy, say good-by
e. Please, can we stay longer? No. Go. Now. Say good-bye. I glower at him, my blood b
oiling. Mr. Damned Control Freak. Angry is good. Angry is better than tearful. I
drag my gaze away from him and scan the room for Jos. Hes talking to a group of y
oung women. I stalk off toward him and away from Fifty. Just because he brought
me here, I have to do as he says? Who the hell does he think he is?

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The girls are hanging on Joss every word. One of them gasps as I approach, no doub
t recognizing me from the portraits. Jos. Ana. Excuse me, girls. Jos grins at them and
puts his arm around me, and on some level Im amusedJos all smooth, impressing the
ladies. You look mad, he says. I have to go, I mutter mulishly. You just got here. I k
ow but Christian needs to get back. The pictures are fantastic, Josyoure very talen
ted. He beams. It was so cool seeing you. Jose sweeps me into a big bear hug, spinn
ing me so I can see Christian across the gallery. Hes scowling, and I realize its
because Im in Joss arms. So in a very calculating move, I wrap my arms around Joss ne
ck. I think Christian is going to expire. His glare darkens to something quite s
inister, and slowly he makes his way toward us. Thanks for the warning about the
portraits of me, I mumble. Shit. Sorry, Ana. I should have told you. Dyou like them
? Um . . . I dont know, I answer truthfully, momentarily knocked off balance by his
question. Well, theyre all sold, so somebody likes them. How cool is that? Youre a
poster girl. He hugs me tighter as Christian reaches us, glowering at me now, tho
ugh fortunately Jos doesnt see. Jos releases me. Dont be a stranger, Ana. Oh, Mr. Gre
y, good evening. Mr. Rodriguez, very impressive. Christian sounds icily polite. Im so
rry we cant stay longer, but we need to head back to Seattle. Anastasia? He subtly
stresses we, and takes my hand as he does so. Bye, Jos. Congratulations again. I g
ive him a quick kiss on the cheek, and before I know it Christian is dragging me
out of the building. I know hes boiling with silent wrath, but so am I. He looks
quickly up and down the street then heads left and
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suddenly sweeps me into a side alley, abruptly pushing me up against a wall. He
grabs my face between his hands, forcing me to look up into his ardent, determin
ed eyes. I gasp, and his mouth swoops down. Hes kissing me, violently. Brie y our t
eeth clash, then his tongue is in my mouth. Desire explodes like the Fourth of J
uly throughout my body, and Im kissing him back, matching his fervor, my hands kn
otting in his hair, pulling it, hard. He groans, a low sexy sound in the back of
his throat that reverberates through me, and his hand moves down my body to the
top of my thigh, his ngers digging into my esh through the plum dress. I pour all
the angst and heartbreak of the last few days into our kiss, binding him to me,
and it hits mein this moment of blinding passionhes doing the same, he feels the s
ame. He breaks off the kiss, panting. His eyes are luminous with desire, ring the
already heated blood that is pounding through my body. My mouth is slack as I t
ry to drag precious air into my lungs. You. Are. Mine, he snarls, emphasizing each
word. He pushes away from me and bends, hands on his knees as if hes run a marat
hon. For the love of God, Ana. I lean against the wall, panting, trying to control
the riotous reaction in my body, trying to nd my equilibrium. Im sorry, I whisper o
nce my breath has returned. You should be. I know what you were doing. Do you wan
t the photographer, Anastasia? He obviously has feelings for you. I shake my head
, guiltily. No. Hes just a friend. I have spent all my adult life trying to avoid an
y extreme emotion. Yet you . . . you bring out feelings in me that are completel
y alien. Its very . . . He frowns, grasping for the word. Unsettling. I like control
, Ana, and around you that justhe stands, his gaze intenseevaporates. He waves his ha
nd vaguely, then runs it through his hair and takes a deep breath. He clasps my
hand. Come, we need to talk, and you need to eat.

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